


breathe

by lusterrdust



Category: Archie Comics, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Betty and Jughead are there for one another, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Mentions of Polly, Post 1x06, bughead - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-29 22:42:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10146254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lusterrdust/pseuds/lusterrdust
Summary: "What was happening? The panic inside her was heightening—webbing itself into the deepest part of her veins and seizing the very basic function of what Jughead was asking her to do. She can’t breathe." [bughead, post 1x06]





	

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd

_▱_ _◯♕_

_"be my friend, hold me_

_wrap me up, unfold me."_

_-Sia, Breathe Me_

_◯_

 

“Oh, god—Jughead, there’s blood!”

On his right side, Betty stares at the jagged piece of glass covered with what she assumes is her sister’s blood. The wind whips broken shards over her fingers now gripping the ledge before Jughead inhales sharply beside her, reaching out to pull her hands from the window sill.

“Betty, your hands—“

She looks down and sees the glass sticking out from her palms, but she’s numb to the pain. She hadn’t even realized…

Jughead looks up at her worriedly, holding her wrists in a gentle grasp before plucking the pieces away and using the cuff of his sleeve to wipe the deep crimson of her blood intermingling with the droplets of water from the rain away.

But Betty’s not concerned with her injury; not even remotely.

“Polly, she—the blood—“ her throat constricts as dread pools in her stomach at wondering how her sister’s blood had gotten on the broken glass. Her thoughts begin to run wild with the most unsettling scenarios.

Where had Polly gone? Was she okay? Was the baby? What were her parents going to do when they found out she’d escaped?

“Hey,” Jughead cups her face, mouth parted slightly as his eyes flicker rapidly across her features, noticing her rising panic.

The look of desperation and devastation on her face cry louder than the shouts of the few ‘troubled youths’ occupying the rooms lining the outside hallway.

“Betty?” Jughead's voice cracks softly, eyes penetrating her own with worry. But as her chest continues to rise and fall with quick, uneven breaths, the color draining even further from her already pallid face, Jughead scrambles internally on what to do to calm her down. He licks his lips, “Betty, take a deep breath.”

What was happening? The panic inside her was heightening—webbing itself into the deepest part of her veins and seizing the very basic function of what Jughead was asking her to do. She can’t breathe. 

His eyes widen as she grips her chest and stumbles back against the desk beside her—her _sister’s_ desk.

Inertia clasps its hold on her, overtaking her senses and distorting the room around her. Her surroundings become hazy and Jughead’s voice fuzzy, as if being filtered through layers of cotton in her ears.

“—ith me, Betty! Look at m—“

Betty tries to respond as he steadies her, moving his hands back up to tilt her jaw upward toward his face. “I can’t—I ca—Jug—“

“—here. Betty, I’m right here. Just-just keep looking at me. Breathe with me. In, and out. In, and out.”

Betty follows his quiet demand, staring up into his eyes as they pin her down with urgency and concern. He’s swallowing, trying to keep a calm demeanor as he works to pull her back into steadiness. From the corner of her eye, she sees an orderly step toward them, but Jughead’s hands don’t leave her face. He doesn't even glance at the man. “Just keep looking at me,”

“What’s going on in here?” the orderly demands before his gaze falls to the smashed window. “… oh my god.”

Shouting echoes down the hall as Betty’s senses begin to refocus and stabilize. She feels a semblance of ease the longer Jughead’s fingers move over her cheeks in slow caressing movements. He continues to draw her out of the spiraled panic she’d fallen into, right up until another hand grasps her shoulder, forcing his gaze to snap away from her own. 

It’s another orderly—one she recognizes from the day she’d visited Polly. One who she’d seen drag her sister down the hallway after tearing them from their embrace.

He says something she doesn’t quite hear, but Jughead’s response tells her it hadn't been anything good.

He’s up in an instant, her skin cold as his touch leaves it.

“Hey, lay off!”

She’s pulled to her feet roughly by the man before Jughead pits himself in front of her, pushing the hand off her arm. “Don’t touch her! We’re leaving, alright?”

More staff members scramble into the room, assessing the disappearance of her sister and the broken window—but Betty doesn’t have time to hear what they’re saying before Jughead’s guiding her out in a rushed manner, murmuring words of comfort.

_“Don’t worry, we’re going to find her.”_

_“She’s safer out there than in here.”_

_“Polly’s smart, Betty, she’ll know where to go.”_

_“We’ll find her.”_

When they’re halfway down the hall, she hears one of the men call out for them and their heads whip back to see a few of the orderlies look their way before Jughead’s tugging on her hand. “Run. Betty, _run_!”

Betty listens, but keeps her grip on his hand held tight as they maneuver through oblivious staff and down the stairs. They don't stop running, not until they’re out of the building and back out into the dark night. Their feet sprint across soaking cement until they carry them to a nearby gas station, slowing only when they reach the shelter its roof provides from the pelting rainfall.

They’re out of breath, shivering and soaking wet.

“Come on,” Jughead grabs her elbow gently, “in here.”

Betty looks up at the bathroom sign on one of the outside doors and follows Jughead inside the small lavatory.

The fluorescent light flickers as Jughead turns it on, quickly moving to lock the door behind them. They take a moment to catch their breath before he wipes his sleeve over his forehead, pushing his hair in a way that leaves it slicked across his temple.

Betty slumps against the door, her head falling back against it with a dull thud as her heart thrums back down to a normal pace.

“Your hands,” he tells her quietly with a grimace.

“They’re fine.” she answers, pushing herself off the door to walk toward the sink. Turning the faucet on, the water runs a light red as it seeps through her fingers, staining the porcelain with its dark color.

 The followed silence hangs heavy in the air.

“Jughead,” Betty begins after a few moments of watching the water run clear. “There was _blood_ on the window.”

Jughead’s silent for a moment and she fears he’s thinking the worst just as she is; but as he steps closer, the resolve in his features ground her back from her rampant thoughts.

It's all there in his look; the belief that Polly's okay.

“I don’t know what happened," Jughead says finally, "but maybe she punched through the glass and cut her hand. There wasn't a lot. Not enough for her to be seriously wounded. But whatever the reason, we know she made it out.”

He’s right.

Polly _had_ made it out of the building.

Betty’s breath whooshes out in a large exhale as she nods, her fingers pushing against the cuts on her palms. Reaching forward, she turns off the tap and takes another steadying inhale.

Polly was okay. For now, at least; she _hopes_.

“Here,” Jughead pulls at the paper towels behind them, bunching it up in his fist before grasping her hands in his own to put pressure over her cuts.

The moment passes quietly as she watches him to tend her injuries.

There’s nothing romantic in the gesture, as he's fully immersed on nothing but stopping the bleeding, but Betty's heart stutters just the same. With each tender motion of his hand, she feels a pull to him. Her gaze lingers on the water droplet escaping the dark curl stuck on his forehead and watches as it journeys down toward his brow until dangling over the lashes framing focused eyes.

He blinks, and it’s gone.

Betty replays the way he’d rushed without hesitation to extract her from a precarious situation. She replays the way he’d pushed that orderly off her and of the way he’d helped her through her breakdown. Betty can only imagine with unease what would've happened if Jughead hadn't been with her...

“Do you think Sheriff Keller found the car?” he asks, turning his body briefly to toss the now soiled paper towel in the trash.

His gray eyes flicker up at her own, waiting patiently for an answer as she digests his question. His fingers reach into the chest pocket of his jean coat before pulling a damp handkerchief from it. 

White with navy stitching, she blinks at the cloth.

It’s so old fashioned, so displaced in an era of their modern world where teenage boys carry nothing but the phones and condoms—it’s so _Jughead_.

Betty wants to laugh and cry, she's not sure which.

She settles for answering the question.

“I don’t know.” She responds, her eyes following his movements. She’s transfixed at the delicate way he wraps the cloth around her hand before knotting it at the arch of her knuckles.

Betty’s answer pulls a thoughtful grimace from him as he looks back up to her, snapping her from her reverie.

“...What do we do now?” she asks with a frown.

Do they find out if the Sheriff had discovered the car? Do they search for Polly? What was the next step?

“I could go for a burger.” Jughead's light joke forces a watery laugh from her. His lips curve slightly at her response and she feels a rush of gratitude for his attempt to break the dour mood between them.

Jughead sighs and lowers her hands to her side before pulling his beanie off to wring it over the sink.

“We should probably get you home actually.” He says before plopping the hat back onto his head.

Betty's mouth parts indignantly.  “What? No! There’s too much—“

“Betty, if your mom finds out you were here again, on the _same_ day Polly broke out—“ Jughead's head shakes as he cuts himself off. “What if she ships you off to that place too? I mean, obviously we'd find a way break you out, but—“

“We?” Betty interrupts, blinking up at him and watching as his features twist with just the barest hints of shyness at her penetrating gaze.

Jughead fidgets in his stance, folding his arms over his chest while feigning indifference. “Well, yeah... I mean,” His eyes move to avoid her own. “you and I, we're a team. You can’t keep Mulder from Scully. It’s criminal.”

And like the loose knot of a string, Betty unravels.

Her arms entwine themselves around his neck, startling him with her sudden movement and tight embrace as she clings to him. His own arms fall from their folded position as he returns the gesture with equal fervor, holding her close to him.

“Thank you, Juggie.” Betty whispers into the denim of his collar. “I don’t think I could’ve done this without you.”

 _This_ —searching for truth about Jason’s murder. Finding Polly. Going against her parent’s attempts to keep them apart. Pulling her from the black hole threatening to swallow her whole—she doesn’t know exactly which _this_ she’s thanking him for, but it seems Jughead doesn’t need clarification.

“You could’ve, Betts.” He assures, rubbing soft circles over her back. “You’re strong.”

Betty scoffs into his shoulder and shakes her head. “I-I broke down. I _freaked_ out! You saw me back there...”

“I saw someone worried for their sister.” Jughead interrupts sternly, pulling away to look at her with a grimace. “Betts, I’d be worried if you _didn’t_ breakdown every once in a while. What, with everything that’s happened—“

“ _I_ don’t breakdown. I shouldn't!” Betty retorts, angry and frustrated at herself. Her gaze lowers as she shakes her head. “I _need_ to be stronger! I need to… I need—“

“Believe it or not, people _aren’t_ perfect, Betty.” Jughead furrows his brow, cutting her off. “Nobody is. And they _shouldn’t_ be! You’re not weak because crap like this affects you; you’re strong because you overcome it.”

He takes a step closer. “You’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

Betty's lips thin as she fights the urge to cry at his impassioned statement. He'd said it so earnestly... so _sure_ of her...

But, she’s done enough crying these last few months to last her a lifetime, and instead, she takes a deep breath and mulls the validity of his words.

“Come on,” Jughead breaks the silence, pushing a fallen strand of her hair behind her ear. “We’re going to find her, Betts. I promise you, first thing tomorrow, we’ll start looking. Just please, let’s get you home before your parents lock you in a tower and throw away the key.”

Despite the gnarled knots in her stomach, Betty finds herself chuckling wryly at the visual. Biting her lip, she lets her shoulders sag. “I… don’t think you’re far off the mark there.”

“Riverdale’s very own Rapunzel.” Jughead smirks with dry amusement at her. “It might be good twist for my novel.”

“I wonder how long it would take for us to break me out.” She mirrors his amused expression, feeling the dread inside her slowly unfurl at the natural way his presence gives her comfort.

Jughead snorts quietly and opens the door behind them. “Let’s not wait around to find out.”

Before she steps out into the rain, Betty’s fingers reach forward to entangle in his, giving his hand a tight squeeze.

The pressure stings her cuts, but she doesn’t care.

“I couldn’t do this, Jughead.” She repeats lowly, all amusement gone from her voice. "Not without you." 

As Jughead’s penetrative gaze holds her own, Betty sees everything in their shades of blue and gray.

She sees the vulnerability her words leave him in. She sees the depth of his trust at her candid honesty. And when his hand moves to rest on the curve of her neck, she sees the silent promise that he _won't_ leave her to go through this alone.

She’s not alone, not with Jughead by her side.

And like rays of sunlight splitting through gossamer clouds of gray, her chest lightens.

Her breath comes easier.

 


End file.
